Self-Initiate Operation: Romano!
by OeuvreOmelette
Summary: Romano feels he has been stuck in the same backseat position with his stupid brother getting all the attention and love for too long (especially a certain Spaniard's) and he feels like it's about time for some change! But with Spain and his friends (a.k.a. the Bad Touch Trio), is this achievable? (Spamano) Edit: Contains body swapping.
1. The Beginning

Romano crinkled his brow as he overheard Spain on the phone.

"Ahh, Italy, that's so nice! You're so adorable!" He exclaimed. "I would definitely love to meet you later! 'Kay, bye!" The landline device made a click, making the Italian's heart sink.

Crossing his arms, Romano softly, but stiffly made his way upstairs, so he could avoid another encounter, but was blatantly disrupted by his happy-go-lucky voice.

"Rooommaanooo!" The Spaniard exclaimed as if singing an annoying song which side-effects include a torturous, endless, earworm that will drive the sanest person insane.

Romano, with no desire for this broken record routine, continued to storm up the stairs and subsequently slammed the door before the running Spaniard on his heels could catch him. He could feel the happy slowly turning into light worry, and no way in hell would he let it happen!

"Romano? Are you oka-"

"Shut up. I get it. Just go."

"Romano! He's your broth-"

"I've heard this too many times, dammit! First you make me mad, then you try to butter me up again! Well, SIGNORE, I'm tired of it! It's always ROMANO this, and ROMANO that," Romano pushed his nightstand against the door harshly and with noticeable force.

"Romano, _lo siento…"_

But it was too late because Romano had already jammed his earbuds in his ears, sitting up in his bed, and could hear nothing the loud bass of his music.

**...**

A few distracting songs later, he ripped the tangled iPod out of his ears and threw them, making a loud _clang_ as device hit his desk lamp, knocking it onto the floor.

Staying right where he was, Romano strained his ears, and heard nothing. So Spain did go. The bastard. He exhaled heavily. Being angry always made sense at the moment, but after you sit it out you feel like a stupid idiot.

_Idiota,_ Romano thought, _Just like my brother._

Romano took his phone out of his jeans and swiped the screen. 10:00pm. He subconsciously looked through his contacts, almost blinded by the phone's light because the night had fallen quickly and he was too upset to turn the lights on. He scrolled through them. They were all there because their bosses _"required"_ them to have the phone number of the World Meeting members. There's the A's, America, Australia, Austria; the B's, Belarus (he shivered), Belgium, Buglari—wait. Belgium…

"_Sorry, I cannot take your call right now, but pretty please with a cherry on top, leave a message after the beep. BEEP."_ Well….shit. He hung up.

Out of ideas, Romano wondered how she would help him anyway, when suddenly his blank face stained red as he remembered the childhood memories with her. He suddenly cringed and shook a little thinking of little Romano asking her to kiss him. Uggh. He hated to be constantly reminded that he was the brother with all the cringe-worthy moments, and Veneziano was the one that could get away with anything, with that charm and naivety. It was getting old, but somehow it was only him who thought that. Just thinking about it made his mind muddled and lost.

Was there _something_ he could do about it?

As he let his mind wander more while lying on bed, somehow he must've gotten around to falling asleep because the next thing he heard was the front door slamming and distinctive, uneven chatter. First it was Spain's voice, all happy and shit, maybe more happy, loud, and slurred than usual, but every hair on Romano's body prickled on end as soon as he heard two other voices, (one French and one German, to be exact). Romano covered his face with his hands and pinching it tightly, praying to whatever deity, no, ALL deities and everything that one could pray to, that this was a dream.

He could already feel their voices violating his existence and every part of his body.

* * *

**A/N Edit: First fanfiction so any reviews are appreciated! :)**


	2. The So-Called 'Escape'

"_Mon dieu…_ that was a great, Italian wine isn't so bad…"

"_Si…"_

"_Gott_, you guys are so drunk! And it wasn't even German beer!"

Romano was still shocked and quite frankly, disgusted. He was leaning against the space of the door that was not blocked by his nightstand, putting his ear against it.

_Dammit,_ Romano thought. _What the hell? Not only did he bring his stupid friends along, but they're also drunk as fuck!_

"Heh, well you're now at your house Spain, good thing you have your keys conveniently tucked into your pocket! You owe the awesome me for driving you here! Now for Mr. Fancy-Francy-Pants!"_Shit. If he keeps those keys I'll beat the living hell out of him._

Spain mumbled something incoherently.

"You okay, Spain? _Mein Gott_, I can't understand you if you're mumbling like that!"

"R-Romanooo….Romano…_lo siento…_"

"Heh, I totally forgot you two _lovebirds_ lived together! I wonder if he's sleeping…but the light was on in that one room upstairs," _Dammit!_ Romano was suddenly stricken with trepidation because he could feel the gears turning in that mischievous head of his. Not only did the Prussian know that he was probably awake, things were _not _o turn out well, since he _is _a member of the Bad Touch Trio…

Hearing approaching footsteps on the stairs didn't help the situation at all. Romano frantically searched for an escape plan. His eyes scanned the room…there was his bed, but hiding under it wouldn't do him justice. There was his desk with his laptop, his bag, the closet, the windo—

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. _"Hey, you in there? Kesesese, I met your brother today, I wouldn't mind meeting you! Kesesese... By the looks of Spain, it looks like the awesome Prussia must interfere to solve this problem."

Romano was sweating now. He remembered the pranks. The roughhousing. The teasing. The perverted France. They always have the craziest ideas. _Knock. KNOCK._ The doorknob turned vigorously, and he could feel Prussia slamming his body against the door, which would probably break the poor thing since he was the annoying version of Germany, who could lift like twenty weights or something. The nightstand wobbled as Romano backed away, knocking over his lamp in the process.

_Shit, now I got to think fast!_ Romano thought to himself. It was more like act fast because right when the Prussian-albino barged in, staring at him with those creepy red eyes, he grabbed the window, pulled it open, climbed through, and jumped. Not to mention flipping him off and saying 'fuck you' in the process.

Oh, and it was nothing, just a _second story _window he jumped out of.

_Thump._ Whoever thought grass was like a pillow—well guess what, it's as painful as the same situation with snow and a plane. It _fucking_ hurt! It hurt like hell! Romano struggled to hold back his tears while he lightly brushed his stinging arm, stomach-down on the lawn and thought, _That was the dumbest thing I-really? Really Romano? _Dio, _it hurts. But I'm not going to cry like my dumb brother._ Spitting out a mouthful of grass, he struggled to get up, and held his right arm with his left like a cast. The pain told him it was probably broken. There were also scrapes, chlorophyll stains and bruises all over his body, judged by the way he felt.

It was dark outside, yet still cool, but the full moon told him it was past midnight. Romano shook violently as he stood up, dazed. Regardless of the circumstances, he definitely did not want to encounter the trio, especially when two-thirds of them were drunk. But what was he going do to? All he had on him was his phone, not even his car keys—wait! Phone…contacts…he could go to Belgium's house, only being like two blocks away-

"Yo, Romano! Holy _Scheiße_ Romano!_" _yelled Prussia from the second story window._His _bedroom window to be exact. Romano impulsively began to limp off the lawn onto the street and began to make his way to his destination, despite feeling like a beat up rag-doll with a broken arm. Fuck that guy, it was none of his business! Romano secretly hoped the darkness concealed him well enough.

He kept walking, and dared himself to take a peek at the window again. No. Not until he reached the end of the street. But by the time he got there he turned around. Even though the pale moon was the only source of light, he could see that it wasn't _Prussia _who was at his window, but the figure had brown curly, hair, wobbling dangerously out of the window like the inflatable-car-dealership-tube guy, yelling with that same sing-song voice, except drunk and confused, "Roomaanooo! _Te amo,_ Romano!" And wait…did he just _vomit _over the window?

_No. No. NO! _Romano continued to say to himself. _I will not go back there! It's about time I do things differently!_ But on the contrary, his stomach that began to feel queasy as a mixture of jealousy, guilt, apprehension, fear, and pain made his heart sink.

**...**

When he finally made it to Belgium's house, his phone said it was 1:30 am. He was exhausted. The only source of light he had were the streetlamps and his phone, so he barely see anything. And plus every time a car had driven by, he dived behind a tree or a bush, fearing it was one of the BTT members, either drunk or sober.

_Well, there's no turning back now, _he thought. _Might as well. _He pressed the doorbell, and heard a _ding-dong_ echoing inside. Then he heard a loud shuffle and saw a blonde girl look out from the nearby window and gasp, green eyes scanning him, looking at every worn feature of his body, illuminated by the automatic outdoor light. She abruptly opened the door.

"Romano! You're a mess!" Belgium exclaimed, rubbing her eyes. She wore pink pajamas and bunny slippers, which were really pretty on her, he had to admit.

She grabbed his hand, but when she saw him flinch, she realized that his arm was injured and choked in surprise. Her lips mouthed 'my goodness' and led him to her living room, sitting him down in a chair.

Without a word, she left to get some supplies, and came back to put ice and rub alcohol swabs on all his scrapes and bruises. She used a clean, white towel and tied it to his arm to act as a sling. Being a country, it was already starting to heal. Romano's face reddened and he mumbled something about Spain and windows. She nodded, suddenly feeling regretful because she knew how emotionally stressed Romano was, ever since he was little.

"Sorry about not calling you back," said Belgium, "I was on a call with Netherlands, he was really desperate for some ways to help bring more money into his country and wouldn't get off until it was really late." Her eyes told him she was sincere.

"It's fine," said Romano under his breath. He sighed. "Spain…I hate how even though we live together, and says he c-cares about me, he's still attracted to Veneziano like everyone else. Why does Veneziano always get all the attention?"

"Hmm," Belgium thought for a moment. "Look at it this way. Maybe you should take a really close look at Italy. Does he want the attention? I'm guessing he sacrifices a lot to be who he is, I mean just, you know, look at him. Maybe it's you who's lucky."

"I…don't understand," murmured Romano, but he was pretty beat up, so maybe he wasn't thinking straight. But how could _he _ever be the lucky one? "Thanks though." His face was still red. Belgium looked at him and if the context had been different, she would have just stopped herself from making the connection with equally red tomatoes.

"Aww, Romano. Here," she said, throwing him some clothes and a towel, "You're going to have to wash up. I have some extra bandages for afterwards, and you can sleep in the guest room. Sorry about the clothes, they may be a few sizes too big since they were Netherlands', but I still have the underwear that you left the last time you were angry and slept here. It's cleaned." She giggled, as if saying 'sorry but not sorry'.

**...**

After a comforting shower, Romano put on Netherlands' shirt that read, _If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much!_ This was in fact, many sizes too big, as well as the pants, but it was still wearable. He also fixed up his bandages. Subsequently, he made his way to the guest room and by the way the silence resonated, he could tell that Belgium had already gone back to bed.

Lying on the comfortable guest bed, Romano thought about what Belgium had told him. What in the world did she mean? _What_ does Veneziano sacrifice to get all the beloved attention? It's always better than being the backseat, the 'oh you're _his _brother', the unwanted one dumped by Austria as a child!

Before Romano drifted off to sleep, his last thought was that he really needed to pay a visit to his brother in order to find out what she meant.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, as usual! :)**


	3. Romano's 'Great' Plan

The irresistible aroma of waffles caused Romano's eyes to open and his mouth to water.

_Wow, I don't remember Spain ever making waffles before,_ thought Romano serenely. _The bastard._

He closed his eyes again, savoring the smell for a few minutes more, and slowly stood up to find his clothes in the morning, because apparently the heat had caused him to kick off everything but his boxers sometime during his sleep. He felt around, half-asleep, wondering why the arrangement of his room was different today. When he picked up the shirt on the floor and read what it said, his eyes suddenly popped open.

_Shit! _Romano thought, and facepalmed. _FUCK!_ He winced at the pain in his right arm that he attempted to facepalm with. _Why did I do that!_

He looked at the table and saw not only a brand new set of clothing, but also a real sling for his arm. He blushed, thinking of what it must've been like for Belgium to leave newly bought clothes while he slept almost-naked under the covers and smacked his face, making sure it was his left hand this time. But deep inside, he was also very thankful.

But there was yet another problem: what was he going to do now?

**…**

"So you're going to Italy's house? What about Spain?"

"Don't worry, Bel, I have a plan in mind," Romano spoke with waffle in his mouth. Belgium laughed.

"You know there's going to be a world meeting in a few days, right?"

"_Sì,_ but I'm just testing this out hopefully in time for the meeting," Romano replied, but he looked moderately unsure, maybe even a bit embarrassed. He explained the plan that he had thought up earlier that morning.

"Hmm…is Spain or Germany going to fall for it?" Belgium asked, cocking her head as she lowered her fork. "I mean…how sure are you that this is going to work?"

"I don't know…I'm crossing my fingers…just call Spain and tell him that I'm going to Italy's house…please," he added in a low voice. "And don't tell him, or anyone else."

"Ok then...good luck," said Belgium, smiling. Romano set his mouth in a hard line, and subconsciously adjusted his sling.

"_Grazie_," he whispered under his breath, getting up to carry his plate over to the sink, but nearly tripping over his own feet. Luckily Belgium simultaneously got up to catch him, landing them in an awkward hugging position.

"Uhh...blugh-gluh," Romano sputtered. Belgium laughed even harder. He really looked like a tomato!

"Don't worry, you belong to Spain," she giggled. That made him even redder than…what could be redder than a tomato?

_I really hope he's going to be okay,_ she thought.

**…**

It took longer than usual for Romano to drive to Italy's house because he kept having second thoughts, and driving with one arm wasn't helping. But at last, he arrived and pulled up to Italy's house...and frowned when he saw that Italy's car wasn't there! He took two deep breaths. Maybe more. Stepping up the two steps to the house, his fragile heart sank as he saw a tiny note taped to the wall, with messy writing that said:

_Went to Germany's Place. Be back never! _

_ -N. Italy_

Romano breathed in sharply. _Damn. _Now he had to go to that potato-bastard's place. As if it weren't as hard as it is. But it was his plan, and he had to go through with it. He needed to find out what made Italy so…so…much like himself! He slammed the car door particularly hard and began to drive off, barely motivated by self-will. He hated the fact that he even remembered where the bastard lived, because his stupid _fratello_ was there so much that he basically lived with him.

Romano only just parked his car when his brother skipped outside singing, "Germany, look it's Belgium's car! Belgium-chan! Bel-chan came to visit!" and immediately examined his life decisions. The potato-bastard followed suit like a bodyguard. Sheesh.

Stepping out of the car, Italy's smile grew wider when he realized who it was. "_Fratello_! You came to visit me!" He hugged him tightly.

Romano didn't hug back. "Damn right I did, damn right," he muttered under his breath. Italy's hug began to suffocate his healing arm. "OW!" He saw Italy stare at his arm, which was still a bit red. He had removed the sling for the plan.

"Romano, what happened to your arm? Are you okay?" Italy looked at him with those damn closed eyes, worried.

"No. _Fratello, _I need to talk to you in private," He whispered in Italian. Italy stared at him and backed off, suddenly serious. He went to Germany and hooked his arm with his muscular one. The German raised his eyebrow.

"Ve… No. Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us." Italy's serious face loosened and instead, held in a laugh. Romano rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Ve…Romano, it was a joke!"

"I know, and what I'm telling you isn't. Get in the car, we're going for a ride."

"Okie dokie! Ve, Germany, I'm going to hang out with my big brother so you can call me if you need me!" Romano pinched the bridge of his nose. _I can't believe my brother is in love with that guy._

**…**

On the road, Romano said in his native tongue, "Veneziano, were you ever curious about what it was like to be the second fucking wheel?"

Startled by his sudden aggression, Italy replied in Italian as well, "R-Romano, what are you talking about? Your life is good isn't it? Spain takes care of you!"

"Yeah, except when he's _swooning_ over you. _Per favore,_ Italy. I need you to do this with me," Romano said more gently. Italy perked up questioningly.

"Do what?"

"Listen, _fratello_. We're going to England's—" (Italy whimpered) "LISTEN! We're going to England's place and we're going to steal one of his spell books." Romano said the last part rather quickly.

"No, no, no! W-we can't steal from E-England!" Italy began to sniffle and squirmed under his seatbelt.

"Veneziano, stop that, dammit! I resent him as much as you do, but we're going to find a body-switching spell, and you know, switch bodies. Just for a few days, maybe until the upcoming World Meeting. It seems arbitrary but please, I…need to u-understand you better. _Per favore._"

"B-But," Italy protested, showing reluctance on his face. "Ve… I don't want to steal though! E-England would be v-very upset if he finds out! And he's already scary as he is!"

"How the hell am I supposed to approach him then?" Romano paused, realizing how angry he was and sighed. "W-Would you do it if I asked England?"

"Ve...Yes."

At his peripheral vision, he could see that Italy stared at him with big, pleading eyes. To Romano, it was more irritating than convincing but he had to do this, even if it meant confronting the English bastard.

"….Fine."


	4. The Body Reciprocation

Before Romano could knock the door with a trembling hand, it had already opened. There stood a slender Brit with prominent eyebrows, short, golden-blonde hair and green eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt with a British flag and jeans. Romano jumped back in fright and nearly fell over Italy, who was hiding behind him like he was a shield, shaking.

"Yes?"

"Uh-huh-ummm…." Romano's mind drew a blank as his Italian instincts made him fear this man, whether he liked it or not.

"Please remember what you are going to say before you say it," England said, acting mature. It was too intimidating. Romano tried to remember why exactly he was here.

"S-s-s-p-p…" Italy whimpered.

"W-what? Spain? Yes I know about your brother's one-sided relationship with him. Everyone does." Romano cringed.

"S-spell book." The Brit raised his eyebrow, or more accurately, _eyebrows_. Romano took in a deep breath. _It's just a person, just a person, just a person. He's just like you, another country. For the love of god, I wish Spain were—no, I can do this!_

"W-we n-need to borrow one of your spell books, _dammit!_" Hardly waiting for an answer, Romano turned away to run, because the Brit's straightforwardness was draining whatever was left of his self-confidence. He tried to run, thinking _I'm a coward, I'm a coward, I'm a coward,_ but tripped flat on his face because Italy was fastened onto his legs and sucking his thumb. Luckily it was on his left side. Romano was so close to the ground that he could see the neatly-trimmed hedges on the side of the driveway tremble a little.

"Well, you could've just asked. You just have to tell me what kind of spell you are looking for," England said, sighing. _Why was it so hard for them to talk to me! Bloody hell, it's like I'm some sort of monster or something. _On the other hand, England swelled with pride, because for once someone didn't _steal_ his books, and finally showed some 'appreciation' (it was the best he could get). If they had stolen his books he would've shot through the roof, by god.

"Get up, I'll get you inside and since I'm feeling great today, maybe I'll fix some scones and tea as well," England stuck out his hand at the shivering, tangled Italian spaghetti mess on the ground.

"NOOOO! NOT THE SCONES!" Italy cried. Romano attempted to get up but his brother was weighing him down.

_They're never going to be okay,_ England thought simply, very offended. "Fine, I'll skip them."

When they finally stood up, trembling and began to head into the house, England heard a rustle. "Who's there?" The rustling promptly stopped. He turned around and stared at the hedges, near his driveway. He listened carefully, but from the other direction he heard giggling.

"They're so silly, they should've asked Norway or Romania. England is too silly!"

"I heard that, _Titania_, and bloody hell, their magic skills are no match to mine," England stated bluntly. The fairies, flew around him, giggling in response. The Italians were too scared to notice.

England closed the door, unbeknownst that someone had been watching the whole time.

**…**

Prussia spit out a leaf. "Yuck! But it was totally worth it! Now it is _really_ time for the awesome me to interfere! But Spain is too stupid to realize anything about his boyfriend, so he's going to have to learn his lesson the _hard _way. I'm never going to tell him…this will be so much fun! Kesesese…" He drew his head out of the hedge. He had been dying for some mischief for ages. Things were too boring down in West's basement.

The night before he tried to get to his car as fast as possible after seeing Romano run away so he could catch him, but stupid, drunk Spain came to him, grabbing his arms, crying for his boyfriend and making his shirt wet with salty tears and slobber. It was _not_ awesome. By the time Spain let go, he _had_ gotten into his car and attempted to find Romano, it was too late and too dark, because the car headlights weren't helping. So he headed back to the Spaniard's house, dropped a knocked-out France back at his house, and headed home.

After that, he was desperate to find out what Romano was up to, and considering how oblivious the loud Italians were since he was literally _tailgating_ their car after they left West's house, he had no problem to do just that. Gears, millions of them, turned rapidly in his head, but first, he needed to call backup.

"France, we are onto something. Over. Need you at England's house in sixty seconds flat. Repeat. England's hou—"

"_Nom de Dieu,_ Prussia, it's a phone call, not a walkie-talkie! I'm coming over."

"No. Call me by my code name, AwesomeGillbird007. AwesomeGillbird007 out!"

"Prussi—" _Booooooop._

Like James Bond himself, Prussia resumed his rather bushy disguise and waited.

**…**

England coughed as he turned the pages of one of his ancient spell books laying on a table of his basement. He was clad in a dark-green, hooded cloak. His eyes scanned for just the right incantation in the "B" section while Italy and Romano sat on a crate at the far corner, holding each other, quivering. It faintly reminded him of the time he was imprisoned in Italy.

"Hmm…Baby Spells, Bad luck Spells, Banishment Spells, Beauty Spells, Binding Spells…ahh! Body-switching Spells," England muttered to himself, using his finger to guide him. "Hmm…I need to do…ok. Romano, Italy get over here!"

Italy pushed a hyperventilating Romano closer to England.

"Ok, Italy stand there, and Romano, you stand right next to him. Face each other." They did as they were told, fidgeting. "Ok. Stay still. Romano, stay still!"

England went back to the table and lit three candles, then he returned, book in hand, and waved his magic wand, making the star-shaped tip glow a golden color, which lit up his green eyes. He held the wand between the Italian's foreheads and chanted.

_The mighty hearth burns inside these two hearts,_

_Soul and mind are in sync._

_But for just this time, before it starts,_

_Let them switch quick; in a blink._

_Allow these beings to experience the other, _

_Both their hardships and gain._

_Until they realize that one another _

_Is all really just the same._

_Oh mighty Dumbledora the Explora, allow me to SWITCH THEIR BODIES!_

England lifted his wand and could see two, silky figures emerge from the hearts of each Italian, drifting into the other. Then the wand's light died.

"Did it work? Did…HOLY SHIT!" Romano (or Italy?) looked at his hands, and then saw himself staring back at him. It was really confusing. "I feel…kind of different?"

"Ve…I feel taller, and much less talented," Italy-in-Romano's-body said, earning a glare from Romano. It was really weird seeing yourself glare at you. They were interrupted by a certain Brit who cleared his throat.

"Oh…._g-grazie_ England. H-How long is this going to last? I hope to make it before or during the World Meeting."

"Well, in the spell it says 'until you realize that you're both the same', so basically, what I just said."

"What the _fuck _does that mean?"

"Please refrain from cursing in my household, but I do say, it's quite weird seeing your brother speak any kind of profanity for the first time."

"Ve, speaking of words, did you notice how funny the last line sounded? I mean I don't think Mr. Romania or Mr. Norway's spells have unusual references in them."

"Bloody hell no! My spells work the best!"

Romano in Italy's body rolled his eyes. But at the back of his mind, his mind was _very _occupied on what to do next.

* * *

**A/N: To prevent confusion, in this fanfiction-**

**North Italy (younger brother) is referred to as: Italy or Veneziano.**

**South Italy (older brother) is referred to as: Romano.**

**Any other confusion, just look for context clues. :)**


	5. Romano, the Cheerful, Pasta-Crybaby

Italy had driven Belgium's car and dropped Romano off at Germany's house, as the sun had already begun to set. Then Romano waved emotionlessly, as if he were attending a hanging, and he was going to be hanged. What made it worse was that even though Italy wasn't planned for this and it was _his _plan, he had ended up more enthusiastic than Romano could ever feel.

"Ve…Germany's going to make the food, since it _is _his house, so don't worry," Italy had said comfortingly, trying to get used to Romano's deep voice. "This is going to be so exciting!"

"Ok, yeah, whatever. Call me if you need anything," Romano had replied, trying to make Italy's voice sound like his as much as possible. "Also, don't damage Belgium's car. Also, Spain was supposed to stop by Belgium's house today, but he should have left by the time you get there. Belgium knows about the plan. Als—"

"_Calmati, fratello! _Ve…"

Romano tried to keep calm as he rang the doorbell. Why was he so edgy? It wasn't like he was going to propose to him or anything. Germany opened the door.

_I'm Veneziano, I'm Veneziano, I'm Veneziano,_ he thought.

"Italy? Wow, you're here already. I guess I've underestimated you once again…uh…why are your eyes open?"

"Um… v-v-heh… I-I just felt like it…?" Romano attempted to smile, and sort of closed his eyes. _Goddammit Romano! Get yourself together!_

"Italy…are you sick?" Germany's face scrunched up in concern. He tried to feel his forehead but Romano flinched.

"N-no…? Can we go inside?"

"Fine. But if I hear you coughing or anything you're going straight to bed!"

Romano sighed in relief. Since he never really lived with Italy, he didn't really know how _exactly_ Italy was like around Germany. Because apparently stuttering meant he was sick. Bastard.

"Go stay on the couch. I'm almost finished with dinner, and I'll call you when I'm done. I'm making _Bratwurst_, which you told me was your favorite last time."

"Ve..heh…" Romano speed-walked in the other direction, down the hallway so the German couldn't see him gag. _Yuck. Disgusting German food. Why does Veneziano even live with this guy? I mea-_

"ITALY!" Romano jumped as a shiver ran down his spine. "The living room's the other way!"

Romano made a noise in his throat and stiffly walked to the room where Germany was gesturing. He heard the muscled man walk back into the kitchen.

Sitting on the leather couch, he made note of a few things: Germany was goddamn scary. And oddly he didn't seem fazed by the fact that he didn't know where the hell the living room was. He shivered as he took out Italy's phone and texted his own phone his brother had: _HELP ME. _

Was this what Italy sacrificed for his innocence? _No,_ Romano thought with false reassurance. _It's just the first day. Maybe I'm not used to it._ _Dear god, I hope it all ends here. _

**…**

Prussia pulled into the driveway, grinning from ear to ear. In the passenger seat, France was chortling like a total pervert.

"Did you see how confused they looked? They didn't even see us! _Honhonhon, _finally Romano is MINE!"

"Yeah, but we would've gotten caught if they weren't so occupied with their new bodies. Why when _Romano_ is in the picture do you become the silly one?"

"Because, _mon ami,_ Spain won't let go of him ever since he was a little child! He doesn't really show his love to him outright, either. I mean their sexual tensions are—Prussia?" Prussia had already gotten out of the car, beckoning him over vehemently.

"Come on! I bet West's finished cooking dinner." He jabbed the doorbell.

_Ding-dong!_ Germany opened the door and raised his eyebrow, "_Bruder_, you're early… and I see that—"

"_MON DIEU!_ G-Germany..." France hid behind Prussia, who promptly rolled his eyes.

"You better have plenty of food, West, because Francey here is coming to the party! KESESE!" Prussia pushed past Germany before he could react, and with great strength, dragged France by the collar of his shirt.

"France, you idiot, remember ROMANO! Priorities!" The albino hissed to the Frenchman, pronouncing every syllable. France immediately blinked and got up.

"Romano…." he mouthed. Prussia underestimated France's love for Romano by far.

**…**

Romano poked the Bratwurst with his fork. His stomach growled, but at the same time he retched at the sight of the non-Italian food. Germany had gone to answer the door, so it was just him alone, sitting at the table, poking this inedible cylindrical piece of meat.

His text had been left unreturned, which made his empty stomach churn with butterflies, wondering what he would be doing. Was he still with Belgium? With Spain? Maybe-_groowwwl._

"Agh, fuck. I guess I have to try this." Romano cut a generously small piece, squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth, oblivious to the approaching footsteps. _Goddammit. It's pasta. It's pasta. It's-_

_"__GAHHH!" _The next thing he knew, the fork flew out of his hand, and his back was on the floor, his head throbbing with pain. He quickly opened his eyes and what he saw was one of his worst nightmares.

"_Mon dieu, vous êtes belle,_" purred the Frenchman on top of him. "Oh _Italie,_ you're looking rather _lovely _today. What's wrong? You're _usually _ecstatic to see m—"

"HAYYYAH!" Romano screamed, kicking and struggling, but to his utter shock, was so weak that his arms and legs bounced off the Frenchman's torso like spaghetti, even though France was below average in strength. _FUCKING HELL VENEZIANO WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE OUT OF SHAPE! _As an alarmed Germany ran to him, he picked up the Bratwurst-topped fork on the floor near his head and stuffed it into France's mouth. As France's face turned slightly sour, Romano pushed him over, and grabbing the remaining Bratwurst on the table, ran as fast as his noodle legs could take him up the stairs and into the first room he saw. He slammed the door, breathing heavily.

His mind desperately tried to repress the petrifying experiences he just had. Huffing, Romano hungrily and angrily stuffed the sausage into his mouth, eating it fast so his brain could not fully process the taste, but the aftertaste remained, making him hiccup and gag. The warm wetness rolling down his cheeks was also very salty. They weren't even his cheeks, or his mouth, or his stomach. They were Veneziano's. _Italy's, _because Romano would never cry so easily. Romano curled up against the door, both longing for and cursing Spain.

_Knock. Knock. _"Italy? You okay? I told Prussia to send France ho—"

"GODDAMMIT, G-GO AW—" Romano choked and covered his mouth when he heard not his voice, but Italy's resonating from his voice box, remembering who he was. _What does Veneziano do when he's mad?_ Then a horrifying answer hit him. He never, or maybe _couldn't_ get angry. He would just sit there and cry.

"Italy, if you're upset, you can sleep with me. Would you like to sleep with me?" Romano panicked as his train of thought was diverted.

_Veneziano would've said yes. Veneziano would say yes. Veneziano would… _"N-n—yes," he blurted out., pinching his (or Italy's) arm until it turned red.

"Ok, fine. I can help you relax before you go to bed. I'll see you." Romano ground his teeth. He inwardly admitted that when Spain was trying to cheer him up, he would give him a cheer up charm, or something that would make him feel melted chocolate inside, but his conscious mind refused to acknowledge it. Germany, however was completely cold and lifeless when it came to comfort. All he offered was to…

"I can help you relax before you go to bed," Romano repeated. "Help…you…relax." Suddenly his face turned red. He couldn't possibly mean…

_PICK UP PICK UP PLEASE PICK UP! _Romano held the phone so tightly he thought it was going to break.

"¡_Hola, _Italy! I picked up because your brother fell as—" _Click._ Romano didn't want to hear any of it. He violently ripped the batteries out of the cellphone and threw them in the trash.

**…**

"So, Italy."

"Germany, I'm… I mean ve, I'm not interested in sex today so no thank you," Romano muttered at the far end of the king-sized bed.

"_Verdammte Scheiße?! _Italy!" Germany took a deep breath. "I-Italy. I was talking about a massage."

"_Buonanotte._" Facing away from the German, Romano shut his eyes tight as if it could help him repress the growing number of feelings inside of him. He tried to convince himself that it was just him, not Veneziano, who would see this as an awful day instead of a good one.

* * *

**A/N: Why you do dis France? :O**

**Please leave a review! :)**


	6. Italy, Love is an Open Window!

"Don't worry, Bel, I'll get the door."

As soon as Italy saw that it was not Belgium, but Spain who opened the door, he knew something was wrong.

_No, _Italy thought. _Romano said that Spain would have been gone by now! Why is he still here?_

Spain's green eyes widened, and oblivious as Italy always was, there was no denying the look of longing in his eyes. Behind him, Belgium appeared, and subsequently gasped, as a series of emotions showed on her face; first disbelief, then amazement, then panic. Italy shot her a look that said, "What do I do?!"

Italy trembled, lost, but realized that Spain would obviously sense something was off if he didn't act quickly.

"L-look, a f-flying tomato, d-damn—ng!" But he was too slow, because Spain abruptly took him and slung him over his shoulder. Belgium watched in bewilderment, and mouthed "I'll call you." Italy nodded frantically.

"_¡Muchas gracias, Bélgica! _I'm taking Roma home!" said Spain exuberantly while walking to his car, resuming his cheery persona. Italy squirmed because Spain's grip was extremely strong from the years of tomato raising. Spain's shoulder dug into his stomach uncomfortably.

"Romano, do you know how worried I was?!"

"U-uhmm, g-goddammit," mumbled Italy, crossing his arms in attempt to act like Romano's bad attitude.

"Romano, _por favor,_ I'm sorry! Why can't we just talk? Italy's just your brother, I don't see why you're all worked up." Spain looked over at him briefly.

Italy murmured a few curses, but now Spain's words were really starting to make him feel bad. He shouldn't be hearing this, Romano should! He remembered what had happened the day before quite guiltily. He shouldn't have allowed them to consume so much alcohol; he only wanted them to try his country's newest products.

Italy knew he should've done something, maybe help mend their relationship while he was in Romano's body, but what was he supposed to do? As they were walking in, Italy waited for just the right moment to say something, but he just couldn't. It wasn't like him to do it.

"Well, Romano, please lighten up, ok? You're home now, and everything is back to normal. I'll even get started on the cooking. I'll make pasta, if that can cheer you up!" Spain gave him a reassuring smile.

Italy fidgeted at the irony of what he just said.

"I can help!" The words simply slipped out of his mouth like a soap bar. Afraid, or maybe too guilty to see Spain's reaction, he sped to the kitchen to grab the ingredients.

**…**

Spain may have started out feeling culpable of his actions, but now he was just plain confused. Romano was definitely acting weird, because even when he tried to be his cheery self to provoke a 'normal' reaction, which would be a string of profanity, he…offered to help him?

Brushing it all aside, he assumed that Romano was desperate to change, but Spain wasn't sure if it was a good thing or bad thing. Worried, he decided to take action.

**…**

As Italy waited for the pot to boil, holding the dry spaghetti noodles, he suddenly jolted when he felt a finger trace Romano's curl, which wound upwards and to his right, contrasting to his own.

"VE—" Italy bit his lip—the uncomfortable feeling was still the same. He turned around, and saw Spain staring at him with a weird glare in his eye.

_What does Romano say when his curl is pulled? _Italy thought frantically, raking around in his mind for an answer. They had never really spent too much time together, and now it was taking a toll on him. _What is it, what is it! Chi…ch-chihuahua? Childbirth? Chipotle?_

Spain slowly wrapped his arms around his torso, making him stiffen. The pot began to boil; the bubbles cackling in the air. As he dropped the spaghetti in the pot, tiny droplets of hot water sprinkled on his arm, and he grimaced when he felt another poke at his curl. Spain's other hand smoothly made its way south.

"_Ahi!_ _BASTA!_" yelped Italy in shock, pushing Spain as hard as he could. He was surprised at the force he had, because in his original, below-average body he would have not been able to do it. He turned around to continue cooking.

_Mio dio,_ Italy thought. _What am I doing? _

**…**

Spain blinked. Maybe he had gone too far. Or maybe not. Romano would have done something major by now, like go complete apeshit on him or something, because touching his curl was his ultimate pet peeve! But he had a back-up plan.

Spain slowly backed away, with Romano's phone held tightly behind him.

**…**

As Spain sat on his couch, the phone suddenly vibrated and played _We No Speak Americano._ Excited, he picked up. Belgium's picture showed on the screen.

"Oh, I'm so glad you picked up! I thought something happened when you didn't call me!"

"¿_Qué? _Romano was supposed to call you?" Spain inquired.

"Wha-! Spain, what are you doing on Ita—Romano's phone!"

"Ha, ha...whoops! But really, Romano was supposed to call you?" Spain repeated.

"Uh—yeah! Of course. I just wanted to see if he was okay. I mean life's really gotten to him."

"Well, he's pretty mellow. He's a bit off though, I don't know what it is…"

"Just make sure you tell him to _be careful_. You know….and give him back his phone, please."

"_Si. _I understand. _Bye!_" But Spain didn't want to give him back his phone quite yet. He hid it under a toss pillow.

Spain decided it was now okay to have a talk with his cute little Italian, now confirmed by Belgium. Happy and oblivious, he skipped back off to the kitchen, leaving the phone on the couch, unaware of the _ding_ and the text message notification that appeared on the screen.

**…**

When the silent dinner drew to a close, Spain suddenly broke in, "Belgium called, and she wanted you to _be careful._ You really should be careful, Romano, you've been acting really weird."

Italy raised his head in shock and felt around in his pockets only to find that, yes, the phone was gone. Had Spain found out?

"Ve-D-Dang it, I'm f-fine," Italy attempted to mutter. He cringed, because his verbal tic was hard to consciously avoid.

Spain decided to a last quick test. When his adorable little Italian stood up to find his phone, he put his fork down, got up, and walked towards Romano. Then he widened his arms and sang, "Fusososo, _mi tomate, _Fusososo…"

"V-Ve…" Italy barely stopped himself.

Spain stopped, raising his eyebrow. "You're acting weird, Romano. Go to bed, and maybe I will join you!" It's been a while since they've slept together, and Spain was determined to find out what was wrong with him anyways.

**…**

Italy got to bed as soon as he could because Spain was getting real suspicious, and he couldn't hold up his fake personality for much longer. He wrapped the bed sheets around his bare torso, clothed only with a pair of tomato boxers after deciding against sleeping entirely naked.

_Ve, _Italy said nonchalantly, _I have to get my phone back. Mmm, maybe tomorrow, I'll give Romano a call. _Letting go of all responsibilities, he closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before all of a sudden, he felt a gloved hand cover his mouth, muffling his struggling voice, and more hands grabbing his legs and arms. They picked him up, and he felt Romano's body being half-dragged and half-carried. Italy tried to struggle, but the grip was too strong.

_What's happening?! _Italy thought frantically. But slowly, the fact was becoming more apparent: he was being kidnapped. It wasn't the first time. For him, at least.

He could feel the cool night air on his bare body, but it was dark, so he couldn't see _anything. _In addition, he was being carried _upside down_, more specifically, down a ladder. He realized this when his head was banged quite hard against one of the rungs, and it was easy to guess when you never open your eyes for most of your life. He felt dizzy.

"Whoops, got to be more careful, kesese," laughed one of the voices.

"Yes, why have I not thought of it sooner? It's his body I want," muttered the other, seemingly to himself, blissfully ignoring his partner.

_Wait, I _know _those voices,_ Italy thought. But as his head hit another rung, he was knocked out.

**…**

Spain was about to join Romano in bed when he heard Romano's phone ring again, but muffled, due to the pillow covering it. He grew excited and curious when he saw Romano's adorable brother on the screen. He picked up.

"¡_Hola, _Italy! I picked up because your brother fell as—" _Click. _Spain blinked in confusion. Did Italy butt dial him? If so, he wouldn't have just hung up, would he? Spain immediately called the number again, but instead of hearing the dial tone, it went directly to voicemail. He also looked questioningly at the text message he sent. '_HELP ME'. Hmm, maybe it's a prank or something._

Perplexed, he concluded that a good night's sleep would allow him to understand all the weird events that had happened today. In a white t-shirt and boxers containing his respective flag, he headed off to the bedroom of his dear Italian.

As he walked in the passageway toward Romano's closed door, he heard cars screeching outside, but the sound was especially loud, as if the windows were wide open in the Italian's room, making him jump.

_No, Spain, get ahold of yourself!_ _There's no such thing as déjà vu! _Spain laughed, thinking how silly it would be if Romano had escaped once again, and opened the door.

The night breeze pushing against the curtains ran through his body, making the back of his neck prickle.

* * *

**A/N: Two Bad Touch Trio Members, One Body-Swapped Italian. What could _possibly_ go wrong? .**

**Make sure to review!**


	7. Spain to the Rescue!

_"__Lovi, make sure you get the ripest tomatoes," Spain laughed, patting Romano on the head._

_Romano growled, "Fine, fine dammit." He ran as fast as his little legs could take him, so Spain wouldn't see his blushing face. He picked one tomato; round, plump and ripe. _

_Suddenly he heard a high-pitched noise. He followed it only to find that it led him back to the Spanish bastard, with his back turned to him. _

_"__Hey bastard, did you hear that noise?" Romano yelled demandingly. _

_Spain turned around, but instead of answering, he was holding, comforting…Romano dropped his tomato …Chibitalia, in his hands, laughing, laughing…tauntingly?_

_Romano gasped and screamed, when wisps of smoke distorted the vision, and the laughs weren't laughs, but cries. Suddenly he was in a grassy field. Romano looked down at his chubby hands, but they weren't his. He was wearing a white cotton apron over a green dress. _

_"__It's okay, Italy, I'll be back." Romano looked up and saw a blond boy his size, in a black cloak and matching hat. The wind blew, waving his cloak like a curtain. His form faded as he spoke. Who the hell was this guy? An overwhelming feeling of sadness and longing washed over him, but it wasn't _his _sadness. It wasn't _his _longing. This wasn't his memory and Romano knew it._

_"__Italy," he repeated with a soft voice, which gradually grew louder. "Italy. Italy! ITALY."_

"ITALY! WAKE UP!" yelled Germany.

"FUCKING HELL!" Romano jumped out of bed, tangling in the sheets and landing on the floor in a mess. Germany walked over to him to help him, but he quickly stood up, rubbing his head.

Germany handed him a cordless landline phone. "Belgium wants to speak to you." Romano snatched the phone from his grasp. "Italy, what's gotten into you lately? I hope your _Bruder _isn't rubbing off on you," he added, and left the room.

"Hello?"

"Romano, I tried to call you, but I couldn't! Do you know where your brother is? Spain just drove over to my house and told me that he escaped!" Belgium whispered so Spain couldn't overhear.

"WHAT?! That idiot _liked_ the swap! And Spain even said he was asleep when I…called…." Romano answered. He decided against telling her about the phone incident.

"Spain said he thought he was sleeping, but he wasn't there when he opened the door! Did anything happen between you guys last night? Not in _that way,_ you know what I mean."

"No… he was fine, but last night both France and—no. No, _No, NO!"_ Romano slapped his forehead.

"What is it, Romano?"

"Prussia and France… they came to the house, and tried to attack me! But when Germany sent Prussia to drop him off, they didn't come back last night! Do you think…it _couldn't _be!"

"Now that you think of it, France does live pretty close to England. What would they do to him, anyway?"

"Belgium, it's _my _body, there's an endless list of filthy, dirty things they could do," Romano squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering at the mere idea of him being taken hostage. "I have to go get him back."

"Well, you're going to have to take Spain with you. That was the original point of the whole plan wasn't it?" He could _hear_ Belgium smile when she said it.

"I…I guess," Romano grumbled. "Just tell him to pick me now, I'll get ready as fast as possible."

**…**

"What? _Romano's _kidnapped?! That's new. But looks like I'll have to reschedule our daily exercise with Japan for later. You can't skip out on that, Italy." Germany thought for a moment. "Do you need me to come with you? I mean, I've saved you too many times in these situations."

"No, no, no, it's fine," Romano grumbled with a touch of sarcasm. There was _no way_ potato-bastard was going to get into this situation. Absolutely no way.

**…**

"Ahh, _Italy_, it's…_muy bueno_ to see you after what happened," Spain said quietly with his hands gripped tightly onto the steering wheel. His forehead creased.

Romano held in a gasp. He tried to convince himself that he didn't need that tomato-bastard, he could do fine without him, but it all washed away like the ocean, Spain's voice was the unstoppable waves. He choked on his breath.

"Italy, _¿Estás bien? _You don't look so good," Spain tried to study Italy's face briefly, but the Italian turned away in an instant. _What is up with Italians these days? Yikes, _Spain thought.

"_Ti amo,_" Romano thought admittedly yet reluctantly, but he must've said it aloud because the car abruptly screeched to the side.

"Italy, what…_te amo también, _but…" Spain spoke, shocked.

"OH SO YOU DO LOVE—I mean, you…what?" Romano couldn't control his silent tears. He blamed it on Italy's body. He hid it by covering his eyes.

"…I love Romano more," Spain trailed off, still shocked at his response, but his expression soon changed. "I love, love Romano no matter how he is. And I'm _muy furioso_ at my friends for doing this to him. They will get their asses kicked until they've gone _loco!_" Spain huffed, slamming down on the gas pedal, lurching them forward.

Romano froze in disbelief. Did he really love him that much more than Veneziano? He was stripped of his thoughts as soon as his the car screeched to a stop, smashing his head against the windshield. Before Romano could recover, Spain was already running outside with a dangerous-looking axe in hand.

"HEY, wait up, you BASTARD!"

**…**

When Italy woke up, it was completely dark, even when he opened eyes_._ Not only were his arms tied above his head, his eyes were blinded by a thick piece of cloth. He was lying on some weird surface, like a mattress, but it didn't feel like a mattress. A breath in his ear made him shiver.

"_Bonjour, mon ami,_" he purred, gently taking the blindfold off of his face. "Romano."

"ACK! F-France!" Italy exclaimed. He looked up and down, becoming aware that he was tied on a fancy canopy bed _shirtless_, yet it felt really weird as the weight he was bearing down on it made the bed feel unstable...it was a water bed!

"Romano, is it really you? Or should I say, _Veneziano _in there? I haven't heard a single curse word from your pretty mouth." France traced a finger against his jawline, making him jolt as his eyes widened.

"Ve! How did you k-know?" Italy cried. France's eyes first widened in shock, then quickly turned devious with a smirk.

"Well," France continued flirtatiously, "At first I meant it metaphorically; yes, I had a doubt of the truth. Too bad you let the cat out of the bag. Did you hear that, _Prusse?"_

Prussia popped up from the other side of the bed, mirroring France's mischievous look. "You bet I did. But now we can finally experiment with Romano's body without Romano's cursing getting in the way! Kesesese!"

"What?! Please, no masochism, I don't want to be spanked…mmff!" Prussia took the blindfold from France and wrapped it around Italy's mouth as he struggled.

"Hah! Masochism? No, we're planning on other things…" Prussia started pushing his arms down on the mattress, allowing the water to ripple. Italy admitted in fear that it was relaxing, until France began to take out a bucket from under a bed.

"Ahh, nice and frozen." He took out what was much unexpected: an ice cube. He began to rub it on Romano's stomach, sparking a cold, yet hot sensation there. Then France took the cube and licked it.

"Nn…mff! Mfff! Mmmhhh!" Italy tried to call out, his face sweating with panic. Prussia burst out laughing at the scene. It was Romano's face, all red in fear and struggle. Then he saw his curl, and poked it, inducing a muffled scream and a face as red as Hunt's chili tomato sauce.

France kept rubbing the ice cubes hungrily, and remarked jokingly, "Hon hon, his flat stomach looks waxed when I do this…it's so hilarious! Quick Prussia, take a picture." Oh France and your interests.

Prussia took out his phone and proceeded to do so when the door broke off violently, flying across the room, knocking the former German country unconscious.

"_Ay, caramba, Francia._ Do you mind telling me _what the fuck _you're up to?"

**…**

Romano struggled to catch up with the Spaniard which wasn't easy, considering his brother's noodle-legs. Spain had easily broken down the front door and charged like a bull into the house of the Frenchman. Oddly, he knew exactly where Italy (or Romano in this instant) was, and rammed down _that_ door using strength only comparable to America's.

By the time Romano got to the room, he could only freeze at what he saw. Spain was breathing angrily, staring holes into the back of the Frenchman's head, which refused to turn around. He was kneeling against the bed, in front of _his body_, which was tied up against the wall with a displeased face.

"_Ay, caramba, Francia._ Do you mind telling me _what the fuck _you're up to?" Spain stood right behind the Frenchmen, emitting a vengeful aura from his body, similar to a certain Russian. France dropped the half-melted ice cube on Romano's stomach, which slid onto the mattress. He turned around swiftly and kept a straight face.

His face showed innocence, but it was clear to Romano that behind that it was fake. Romano glanced over at Italy in _his _body. Italy's eyes looked at him pleadingly and in alarm as if to warm him about something.

"You see," France began in a silvery voice, smirking, "That isn't Romano—" (Italy made a panicked muffled sound) "—that is Ital—"

"-Y'S FOOT BEING SHOVED UP YOUR ASS!" Romano hollered, throwing his entire body at the Frenchman as to head-butt him. But France took one brisk step aside, and he landed face-flat into his own stomach, which was cold and wet. Italy made a stifled _oof_.

France turned around, smirking, but before he could approach them hungrily Spain charged, taking a swing at him with his axe and grazing his hair, chopping at least two inches of golden locks off. France jumped in alarm, attempting to find something to shield himself with, but Spain took another swing, and slapped him in the face with it, colliding France's skull to the metal surface of the blade.

"If we weren't so close, you would've…" Spain made a cutting motion across his neck with his hand. France wobbled, stumbling from the hit. Spain hit him once more.

_Mon dieu, it's just like a frying pan, _he thought, regretful. He collapsed to the ground.

**…**

"Romano! Lovi, are you okay?" Spain rushed to untie Italy, as his dark demeanor faded quickly.

The real Romano, having gotten up from his own stomach, turned away, red-faced, humiliated by his actions. _Did Veneziano ever get embarrassed?_ He then glared at Italy for a moment. Italy, in _his body_, getting _Spain's _treatment. _It's all my fault._ Romano's heart sank.

"Spain, I—we need to tell you something," Italy suddenly spoke calmly in Romano's deep voice.

"Yes, Lovi?"

"Well—I'm not—" Italy looked at Romano for help, but Romano was facing the other direction, staring at the ground angrily. Waiting.

"Don't worry, Romano, you can say it. I won't be mad." Romano began to storm out, making Italy bite his lip.

"I-I'm…not…R-Romano. I'm V-Veneziano. We switched bodies." Spain stared at him for a few moments.

"No…that's impossible," Spain spoke in a low voice.

"England," was all Italy could manage. Spain quickly turned around to find the _real _Romano, but Romano was already out the door.

* * *

**A/N: Things have taken a turn! :o**

**Edit-Changed chapter title cause it sounded better :)**

**Make sure to l****eave a review!**


	8. The Reciprocal of a Body Swap

Romano stepped out onto the freshly cut lawn of France's house and sighed. Back at square one. Everything went wrong with his plan and he should've predicted it.

He contemplated running all the way to England's house, which wasn't far, but he had to escape…escape everything…

_I can't confront him like this, _Romano thought, humiliated. _I need to switch back now!_

Before he knew it, he was banging on England's door with all his might. England opened the door calmly.

"Italy? Fancy meeting you—oh right, you're Romano, I almost forgot," he said in a deadpan tone. Romano's eye twitched.

"England, dammit, SWITCH ME BACK RIGHT NOW!" Romano grabbed the Englishman's shoulders and shook them. All Romano wanted was for this to end; he didn't care how scary England was, because right now he was in a much worse predicament.

"I just told you the other day, you're going to have to realize that you and your brother are '_really just the same,' _as I recall from the spell," he replied calmly.

"NO! I NEED IT NOW! I DON'T WANT THIS BODY ANYMORE, DAMMIT!" Romano's anxiety level rose by the second. He felt like everything he did just made it worse. He took a deep breath. "Prussia and France ruined whatever I wanted to experience because THEY KNEW ABOUT THE FUCKING SPELL!"

"You twit, stop yelling so loud," England said, but he had a tone of surprise in his voice. _France and Prussia knew about the spell? Blimey, no wonder this Italian's gone nuts. _

"Please—"

"ROMANO!" yelled a Spanish-accented voice. Romano jumped, and turned around. _There was no running away now. _Romano looked down, despairingly, which Spain misinterpreted as fear of the Brit.

"Hey, get away from my Romano!" Spain lifted his battle axe that materialized out of thin air and prepared to demolish England.

"Bloody wanker! Get that thing away from me!" England tried to remember the last time he actually held an actual weapon…it was a depressingly long time ago. "I didn't do anything!"

"THEN WHY IS HE CRYING, ASSHOLE?!" Spain roared. He prepared to literally decapitate him when Romano stood in front of him, shaking.

"BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU BASTARD!" Romano's voice box hurt. Italy's voice was too high pitched, and he couldn't take it anymore. It made him feel like an annoying prick. "Maybe Italy _does _get the advantages, doesn't he? I'll always be in the back."

Spain dropped his weapon, and spoke in a surprised tone. "Romano, I always love you the most, no matter what! Why would you think otherwise?"

"He's always perfect, that's why!"

"Romano, Italy's not _perfect._ Nobody is! Prussia told me once that Italy had a friend a long time ago—he wouldn't say who—who promised to return after the war, and Italy still misses him dearly."

_Was that the guy in my dream? _Romano thought. Then he remembered his childhood; even though he was basically unwanted, he was raised, tolerated and _loved _by Spain. And he was still here today. Now he realized that Italy wasn't always who he was on the outside, in fact maybe he was worse off, especially with that potato-bastard. A tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped it with the pack of his hand.

Spain embraced him warmly, but felt awkward because he wanted to comfort not Italy, but Romano. He missed Romano's green eyes, and felt strange staring into Italy's brown eyes.

"Romano," he whispered. "Let's ask England to change you back." Romano stared into his green eyes.

"About that…" he mumbled, looking away. Spain peeked over his shoulder to find England.

"England?" But England had closed the door already, and various clicks of locks could be heard from the inside.

"Um, I'm not interested in your personal business," he declared, his voice muffled by the door, "and I'd rather stay intact than have that axe up my arse." Behind the door, England could hear some fairies giggling at him nearby and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"England…I have the right mindset now, I think it's about time I change back, dammit," stammered Romano.

England scoffed. "I have better things to do," he stated bluntly, eyeing them warily through the peephole.

"Fine, we'll ask someone else," Romano said sarcrastically. "Maybe Norway or Romania….wait we need Italy for this don't we?" As if on cue, a brown-haired Italian came skipping towards them.

"Hey, I found you guys," Italy shouted. "What about Norway and Romania?"

Right then, England blew the door open with a rush of anger and shouted, "Fine, follow me." They followed him to the basement.

…

England raised his spell book and opened it to the page that he dog-eared just days ago. He reread the spell to check if the spell had been cast correctly (not that he had any doubt about it of course!). Spain was against the wall, lightly holding Italy's hand, still wishing it was Romano's, and Italy, in Romano's body, was waiting next to them.

England raised his wand from _The Book of Reversing or Breaking Spells,_ and chanted the words, which were this time, written in Latin. Once again, a glow shimmered from pointed tip, and illuminating the room. His voice grew more and more intense, making the light almost blinding…

"_Angleterreeee! _What are you doing in that silly cloak again?" France sang.

"_BLOODY NORA!" _England stumbled backwards as he lost control over the incantation. Subsequently the light flickered and shot violently across the room.

With his butt on the ground, England scolded, "Frog face, I could've killed someone you know! Stop barging in!" He trailed off at the end as he felt a wave of intense sickness roll through him.

"FUCK YOU, French bastard, I was so close to getting back in my OWN FUCKING BODY…oh wait…I am!" Romano felt a sense of relief wash over him, happy to hear his own voice. He immediately ran to Spain, who hugged him tight. Italy smiled, touching his own face, quite glad that he was in his own body as well.

On the other hand, England was not okay. He stood up, putting his hand up to his head only to feel his fingers brush through silky long locks of blonde. _No. Not again! _He felt his chin. There was a stubble. His fears were indeed confirmed as he saw himself, quite literally, standing right in front of him.

"Blast it! Frog, what the hell did you do?" he said, his voice cracking due to his unfamiliar French accent. "Now I have to use a potion because the spell's been messed up!"

"Aww, well _muchas gracias _for changing my cute Italians back," Spain interjected, putting each hand on both Italians' backs. "See you tomorrow!" Before England could respond, Spain slammed the door. As they left they could still hear an argument that ensued behind it.

…

"Veneziano, _m-mi dispiace,_" said Romano, leaning his head against the car window.

"_Va bene,_" Italy said. "I didn't realize your feelings hurt that bad."

"Say, Italy, what about you? Can you tell us more about this childhood _amigo _of yours?" Spain asked shyly, hoping not to hurt his feelings.

Italy kept silent for a few minutes, then spoke. "Well, ve, I-I miss him…b-but I never saw him again…"

"You have Germany." The words slipped out Romano's mouth. It felt instinctive for him to say it. He felt that he needed to, because he was the older brother. "Germany loves you."

Italy smiled. "You're right, _fratello._ And you have Spain."

"Awww…_mi tomate,_" Spain blushed. He tried to lean over and kiss Romano, but was pushed back as he nearly swerved onto the sidewalk.

"WAIT TILL WE GET HOME, TOMATO BASTARD!"

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, fellow readers! There will be an epilogue, for reasons involving a certain man with thick eyebrows.**

**Also, apologies for not posting translations, as I stuck to cognates and they should be understandable in context. Well, it's not too late!**

**Mi dispiace (Italian)- Sorry.**

**Va bene (Italian)- It's okay.**

**Please review! :D**


	9. A FrUk-ing Awesome Epilogue

As soon as Spain and those Italians left, England was at an utter loss. Not only was he stuck in the bloody France's body, this magical predicament required a special potion, which Norway had, meaning he would have to wait until tomorrow when the World Meeting started.

_Never. Never am I helping those Italian twits again! It's their blasted fault I got caught,_ England thought in denial.

France stared at England, and looked down at himself in horror. "_Mon dieu! _My body…my beautiful body! It now reeks of scones and tea! Once again, _Angleterre._"

"Shut up, France. I-I'll get the potion tomorrow. Meanwhile, we have to deal with this, unfortunately. Don't even _think_ of leaving, you git. I've seen what you did to my body last time, and I'm not letting you do it again!"

"Do I get to sleep with yo—"

"You can take the guest room." England cringed at the sight of his own face, which was contorted into something French and perverse. "Meanwhile, I haven't even eaten supper yet, so I'll cook some fish and chips."

"_Quoi?!_ _Non, _there is no way I'm going to eat _your _cooking!" France scrunched up his face.

"Hah! We'll see…"

**...**

"Well, _Angleterre_, that wasn't so bad. Maybe your tongue is immune to horrendously burnt cooking."

"Put a sock in it, frog. My cooking is the—wait, what are you looking at?"

France stared blankly at the wall. "_Dieu, _England, I forgot that you naturally hallucinate. Look at all these floating creatures! _Bonjour, bonjour._" France laced his hands together, staring at the blank wall in awe.

"Oh, you mean my fairy friends. I don't hallucinate, you sod! These are magical creatures that only people of high intelligence like me can see…meaning that being in _your_ body, I cannot see them." France scoffed hearing the fairies giggle at the statement.

"Well, _mon ami_, why don't we go to bed. I'm still up for it if you want to sleep together." France reached to grab his hand.

England nearly gagged at the sight of his own face attempting to be seductive and tore his arm away.

"No."

**…**

"France, you are _not _going to mess this up. Remember what I said: you'd better stay nearby while I approach Norway on this matter. I already rang him up this morning." England gave France a serious look as they walked into the building in which the meeting would take place.

France rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Since when have I ever done such a thing?" But at the back of his mind, he was cooking up something real nice. Better than British food.

Opening the door of the said room, England saw that they weren't early, but not late either, seeing that the long table with chairs was already partially occupied with a variety of countries. Amidst them, it wasn't too hard to find the Nordics sitting together in the back.

England opened his mouth to warn the Frenchman once more, but he was already there.

"Hello, Norway. Would you like to _rendezvous_ with me at dinner tonight?" France grabbed Norway's hands, stroking them before he could react. Denmark, who was sitting next to him, hadn't noticed, as he was arguing with the Swede.

Norway retracted from him, because though he was fully aware of the swapping situation, England would have never gone into his personal bubble, which was a minimum of three feet. France saw Norway's resentful expression and immediately dropped his hands before England could catch up to them, but it was too late because he had quickly caught the attention of a certain angry Dane.

"_Hej! _What are you doing to my bubbly boo!" Denmark shouted as his own battle axe materialized from the air. "You will _not _touch my Norge!"

_Holy shit, this guy has an axe too!_ France knew about his terrible (recent) past with axes, and resolved to running away when he immediately collided with himself, or rather, England in his body.

"_Danmark_, I'm supposed to be helping them." The blond man had a look of disbelief.

Denmark turned to face Norway, worried. "_Norge_, are you sure? That piece of shit tried to molest you!"

Norway facepalmed and gestured toward the tangled FrUK mess on the ground. "If we leave them like that for too long, they will start to smell and attract fangirls." Denmark thought for a moment, and nodded in understanding.

Norway proceeded to the mess, and took out the _Exchange Potion. _He dripped a few of its contents on his bare hand and slapped England in the face with great force previously reserved for only the Dane, followed by another potion slap in France's face. For a moment, the two nations glowed a bright color.

"All better. Only I am capable of such magic," Norway said to himself. Denmark gave him a huge hug. "Annoying…"

England rubbed his cheek and grumbled to France, "You wanker! What did I tell you…" England paused at the sound of his own British voice. "Oh."

"_Quel soulagement! _I have returned to _mon beau corps!_" said France in glee. He hugged himself egotistically.

"Ugh. Norway, from now on, you can take the magic requests because I have a bloody Frenchman after my arse!" France smirked at this statement.

"But it's not going to stop you from messing up, is it?" Norway deadpanned.

"_Oui._ _Angleterre_ is so clumsy sometimes that it's simply _adorable!_"

"Hey! Shut your trap!"

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings, _mon cheri?_ Is it me who's distracting you when you mess up your spells?" France winked.

"Bloody hell no! _Frog, _you stop that this instant! There's people here!"

"Playing the demanding housewife I see! _Honhon—_" England proceeded to punch France in the face, in which the Frenchman dodged and held his wrists in an attempt to kiss him. The rest was obscured by a giant gray cloud.

Meanwhile, Romano and Spain watched them fight as they sat next to each other at the other end of the room.

"I'm definitely not asking _him _to help me ever again," Romano concluded.

Spain pinched his cheek. "_Mi tomate, I _will help you next time!"

"You mean the next time I have an existential crisis because of _you_, dammit?" He pushed his hand away and shot him a look.

Spain's eyes twinkled at the sight of his cute Italian's orbs. "Of course!" He turned his chair to face a confused Romano and took a deep breath.

He widened his arms and sang, "Fuuuuusososososo! Fuuuuuusosososo!"

Romano slapped his forehead and wondered how in the world he didn't see that coming.

**…**

Days later…

Prussia opened his eyes to be greeted by the finished pattern of the wooden door in front of his face. Pushing it off, he rubbed the throbbing bumps on his head. He got up from the floor and glanced at the canopy waterbed as the recurring events began to flood into his memory.

He raised an eyebrow. His first impulse was to take out his cellphone. "I wonder how long it's been since I was—_Scheiße!_" The date read April 1, 2999. The albino was completely stunned.

_No. The awesome me doesn't panic. I'll surely kill Spain for this. _As he furiously stormed out and entered France's living room, he flicked on the light—

"HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S DAY!" France, Spain, Romano, Italy and Germany shouted.

"Ve…It's not even April," Italy remarked.

"Sorry for leaving you partially injured and not making any attempts to help you!" said Spain, stroking an indifferent Romano.

"_Oui, _it was too good an opportunity to pass up!" France grinned.

_I have terrible friends._

* * *

**A/N: I had too much fun with this epilogue. Think of it as a nice gift! **

**You could think of it as a bit of a FrUk oneshot, in addition to DenNor, Spamano, sort-of GerIta, and forever alone Prussia! Lol.**

**Here, some helpful translations:**

**French:**

**Angleterre- England**

**Quoi?- What?_  
_**

**Mon dieu/ami/chéri- My god/friend/darling**

**Quel soulagement!- What a relief!**

**Mon beau corps- My beautiful body**

**German:**

**Scheiße-Shit**

**Thank you for being a loyal reader! Leave a review!**


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